Full Circle
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: PostBefore The Flood. Jack regrets.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not my characters, alas.

There was something about the finality of Irina's kiss that Jack couldn't stop thinking about. When he'd first seen her walk out of that jungle – dirty, fragile, but so very alive – he'd forgotten how to breathe. And he'd wondered if this was the second (third, fourth, fifth) chance to start over.

She'd punched him then, and he'd been glad. He deserved worse, and maybe one day he'd get it, but she'd touched him and he'd known she was real.

She wasn't the same woman he'd married. She wasn't the same woman who'd walked calmly into the CIA and surrendered. Listening to her on the plane, he'd felt physically ill at what her sister put her through.

(And thought: I should have trusted you. I should have looked for you.)

He'd found closure by putting a bullet between her double's eyes, except it wasn't the closure he'd been seeking. The second he pulled the trigger he'd known he'd gone too far.

She'd forgiven him with a kiss and a smile, and walked away.

He should have gone after her, should have said something – but he hadn't been able to move. He tried to capture that image of her glancing over her shoulder, the hint of a smile on her lips, an expression he couldn't quite define on her features.

He thought his heart had been irrevocably broken when she'd driven into a river. It had been broken again with the revelation of who she really was. Again, when she breezed back into his life with cryptic comments about truth and time. Again, when he killed her. By rights, there shouldn't have been enough of his heart left to break. But with a kiss and a goodbye, it broke once more.

Jack wanted to drink himself into oblivion, but when they returned from Russia they went straight into debriefing. Three hours later, he went by the hospital on his way home. Sydney was at her sister's side, clutching Nadia's hand as if she could heal her just by the force of her will. Jack stood in the doorway long enough for Sydney to register his presence. She smiled, then turned back to her sister.

He met Vaughn on his way out, accompanied by a very worried Weiss. Jack said nothing; no words could make this situation any better.

He tried not to think of Irina as he drove home. Tried not to imagine what she was doing right now. Told himself he didn't care if she was thinking of him.

He almost succeeded, and then he arrived home and found her curled up on his bed.

1/2


	2. Chapter 2

For a CIA agent, Jack's security was surprisingly easy to get past. (Or, Irina thought, maybe she hadn't lost her touch.) The house was familiar, ghosts of who they used to be in every room. Memories she'd tried too hard to forget suddenly demanded acknowledgement.

She stripped in the bathroom and took a quick shower. She needed to rest, but she also needed to wash the feel of captivity from her. (After Kashmir, she'd showered up to six times a day. Even before then, she'd hated feeling dirty. After . . . well, after, there was never enough water to feel truly clean.)

She dropped her dirty clothes in the hamper – remembered doing the same thing as Laura, a lifetime in the past – and borrowed one of Jack's shirts to sleep in.

Laura had done that too, she thought with a wry smile.

Irina clutched the pillow to her chest, burying her face in Jack's scent. She remembered doing this when he was away on long assignments, and she'd realized then that she loved him. Now, decades later, she'd come full circle and returned to the home she'd left behind, in search of comfort.

For the first time in years, she felt her age. She was tired of this: running, lying, pretending. Tired of Rambaldi and prophecies. Tired of seeing the people she loved torn apart by games.

She knew she shouldn't have come here. She was almost certain Jack wanted nothing to do with her. But the reality was that she had nowhere else to go. Not now, while she was still vulnerable and recovering from treatment at Elena's hands. While her youngest daughter was in a Rambaldi-induced coma.

"Irina?"

Jack.

She rolled onto her back, squinting up at him. He couldn't quite hide the shock on his face, and she was glad she still had the power to surprise him.

She grabbed his wrist, pulled him to the bed, then curled her body against his and buried her face in his neck. Much better than the pillow, she thought. He smelled of strength and warmth and everything she'd ever loved about him.

When he wrapped his arms around her, she let out a soft, contented sigh.

He said nothing. Perhaps he didn't need to. He'd been tortured before. He understood betrayal.

She needed more.

Pulling away slightly, she tugged clumsily at his shirt. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, her body was reminding her of how she had suffered. Her muscles were stiff and sore, and she was glad when he got the hint and took over. He slipped her shirt off too then lay back against the pillows and waited for her to make the next move.

She didn't want sex. She wanted comfort. Wanted the skin-to-skin contact from a previous life, where a husband held his wife and nothing in the world could touch them.

She reclaimed her previous position, and lay still as Jack ran his hands over her back. How long had it been since she'd been treated with such care? She felt tears prick at her eyes and let them fall.

Jack said nothing. His hand moved to cover her heart, as if he was the one in need of reassurance.

She needed to look at him, to tell him she understood and she didn't hate him. In his eyes she saw guilt and pain and regret, but she saw love too, and she knew she'd come home.

2/2


End file.
